The Queen From Provence - Plaidy Jean - Страница 16

Yes, it was indeed true that everyone was delighted that he was to marry. Hubert de Burgh thought it time and that since the eldest daughter of the Count of Provence was the wife of the King of France it was no bad thing that his second daughter should be Queen of England. Even old Edmund, Archbishop of Canterbury, believed that the marriage was necessary for state reasons. As for Henry’s brother Richard, he regarded himself as the one who had brought it about (which indeed he had been) so therefore he, seeing himself as a policy maker, was all in favour of it.

There was no dissenting factor in whichever direction he looked and with a light heart Henry set out to greet his bride.

She rode on a white palfrey and her hair fell about her shoulders; on her head was a diadem to proclaim her royalty. She was dressed in blue with touches of gold thread, and her long semicircular cloak was fastened by jewelled buckles held together by a golden chain. Henry looked at her and his heart leaped with exultation. Eleanor la Belle was aptly named.

He thought: She is indeed the most beautiful girl in the world – and she is my Queen.

In that moment he knew that well worth while were the long wait, the disappointments and frustrations during that time when he had thought that Fate had decided he should never have a bride.

He took her hands in his and kissed them.

‘Welcome,’ he said. ‘My heart swells with delight at the sight of you.’

No words could have made her happier or more sure of herself.

She said: ‘I am happy to come.’

She studied her husband-to-be. He was not tall, but neither was he short. He did not look in the least delicate; in fact he was more robust than his brother Richard and bore some resemblance to him. She noticed that distinguishing feature which she had never seen in any other: his eyelid falling over one eye so as to conceal the pupil might have given him a look which could have been sinister if he were angry. But at this time, when it was clear that he was filled with delight, it was merely interesting. By her standards he was quite old; this did not displease her, because his maturity but called attention to her charming youth.

Riding between the King and Uncle William she rode into Canterbury. It was one of those occasions when it seemed to be the most delightful prospect in the world to be a King and Queen. In the streets banners fluttered; the people had gathered everywhere to see them pass. They called loyal greetings; they smiled and cheered.

Eleanor could not quite understand them but Henry told her: ‘They are amazed by your beauty.’

Richard was there to greet her warmly as an old friend.

‘What a good day for England when you decided to write a poem about my country,’ he whispered.

‘You think that but for that it would never have happened?’

‘I am sure of it,’ he answered, determined that she should remember and be grateful to him.

He looked at her longingly. How enchanting with the dew of youth on her; with that perfection of feature and those serene eyes where intelligence was as clear to see as all their beauty.

Richard was envious. This fair young girl for Henry and for him an ageing wife. He did not grow to love his Isabella more as the years passed; and the Pope would not allow him to put her from him. Life was unfair. He reminded himself that he had his adorable son, Henry after his royal uncle, and Isabella was his mother. Yes, he had Henry, but that did not prevent his grudging Henry this lovely girl.

The King was much aware of his envy; it delighted him. As for Eleanor he could not take his eyes from her. He had already given her jewels of such magnificence as she had never seen in Provence and even Marguerite’s could not compare with these.

She was going to be happy here. She was ready to love this man with those strange-looking eyes who was already doting on her when so far she had done nothing but look beautiful which was the easiest thing in the world to do.

She had brought several of the women from Provence with her, though her father had warned her that often when brides married into foreign lands their husbands dismissed their attendants and supplied others of his choice.

She would keep hers with her, she promised herself. She was not going to speak English all the time, though she had a fair knowledge of it and because she could pick up languages easily she would learn quickly. Sometimes, though, she would want to speak her native Provencal and recall memories of her childhood with those who shared them. Perhaps that would be the first battle between her and Henry. She would welcome it because it would give her an insight into how much she would be able to lead him.

The marriage was to take place immediately in Canterbury and the ceremony would be conducted by the Archbishop of Canterbury; afterwards she and her husband would ride to London for the festivities.

In her apartment in the Archbishop’s palace her Uncle William came to see her. She could see by the brilliance of his eyes and colour in his face that he was excited.

He took her into his arms and held her against him for some seconds before he said with emotion: ‘I am proud of you.’

‘Why, Uncle, what have I done?’

‘You have enchanted the King. I see that.’

‘Is that not what is to be expected?’ she asked.

‘It is to be hoped for – and rarely does it happen as it has this day. I can see that he loves you already. Oh, my child, this is a good day for the House of Savoy.’

‘And for England I hope,’ said Eleanor.

‘Aye, for England. Tomorrow you will be a Queen – and after this ceremony here in the great Cathedral, you will go to Westminster for your crowning. My child. I never thought this could be possible. We rejoiced at Marguerite’s good fortune … and now you. Two Queens …’

‘Romeo de Villeneuve told Father that he would make each of his daughters a queen.’

‘Let us be thankful that his prophecy has come true for two of them.’

‘Poor Sanchia and Beatrice! I’ll warrant they are envying me. My parents will be telling them now of our stay in Champagne and at the Court of France. I can picture it.’

‘Let us concern ourselves with your future, my dear.’

‘That is a matter in which I have great interest.’

‘I believe the King will be guided by you … if you are clever.’

‘I am clever, Uncle. It is my cleverness which brought me here.’

‘Oh, I know the story of the poem, and I know well your skill with words and music. But I was thinking of other skills. We have yet to discover whether you possess those.’

‘If I do not now, I soon will, Uncle.’

‘Like the King, I rejoice in you. Moreover I have taken a liking to this land, Eleanor.’

‘That pleases me since it is to be mine.’

‘You realise, do you not, that your husband can play a very big part in the history of Europe. I want it to be a part which brings good to England … to Provence and to Savoy. For that reason I should like to be here to guide you … both.’

‘You mean you do not wish to go home.’

He looked at her steadily. ‘I want to stay here, Eleanor. You will need me. I want to look after you. You are a clever girl. Oh, I know that well, but you are so young and cleverness is often no good substitute for experience. No more of this now. It may be that you will have some influence with your husband, and if you do …’

‘I have formed the opinion that my husband will wish to please me,’ she said.

William Bishop Elect of Valence smiled. He felt that was enough for the moment.

On the evening before her wedding Eleanor had sat beside Henry at table in the palace and he had talked to her of his country and his interests and they were delighted to find hers were similar. He was a great admirer of the poets and he told her that he had read again and again the magnificent epic she had written and sent to his brother of Cornwall. He would never forget that it had, in some measure, brought her to him.